


blood-flow

by Sapphoric



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Crying, Face Slapping, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Spanking, Vibrators, alexander says no a lot and john doesn't listen, but im going to tag that anyway, buts it's all consensual, i guess, idk - Freeform, this one i guess as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphoric/pseuds/Sapphoric
Summary: Alexander's had a long week. It's prevalent in his furrowed brow, his grumpy attitude. The way he shies away from John's touch.These bad weeks don't come by often, but when they do, John knows how to help Alexander relax.





	blood-flow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [one_golden_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/gifts).



> For Kacie, who's fics cheered me up while I was in the hospital.

At first, John thinks that maybe it’s just a bad day.

Alexander gets home sometime after five, depending on what day it is. Doesn’t like to hang around even if he’s got papers to mark or tests to check. His jobs not all that hard; he teaches twenty-three first graders maths and French and he likes it. He likes teaching kids, and he sort of likes the school and none of its really cause for any bad moods.

So, it's just a bad day. Alexander comes home with a grouchy look on his face, but he lets John kiss his neck and crowd him against the living room divider. John’s in the process of making dinner, inconsequential, and clicking through hotel websites in regard to the holiday they’ve just booked. Alexander hangs his coat up, glistening with melted snowflakes, and sits down to rip his boots off. Mutters that he’s going to have a shower – which is Alexander talk for “I’m sorry, baby but I’m in a bad mood and a need a few minutes to sort myself out”. John hums and lets him go. Listens to the water hiss through the pipes while he opens the oven and checks the roast vegetables that he’s got in there.

Alexander won’t talk about it. His bad mood. John doesn’t push it when Alexander finally climbs into bed that night. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk about it.

It’s no secret that Alexander hates the snow. He's acclimatised as much as he can be after his almost fourteen years living in this city, but it’s still a nuisance. He shuffles in on a Wednesday night, the sky dark, the wind howling with snow flurries. Looks, honestly, like some kid that’s native to the Russian part of the Arctic Circle. Every article of clothing covered in thick ice particles. John stands against the divider and has to chuckle. Watches his partner remove all of his wet and uncomfortable garments with a hard frown on his face.

John makes a joke. Says, “bad out there, babe?” And it has Alexander in such a bad mood that he doesn’t even give John a kiss. Scowls and ignores John altogether. John makes the mistake of muttering out a gentle “oh, come _on_ ” but it’s clearly just a testament to Alexander’s shitty mood because Alexander disappears into the bedroom and doesn’t even shoot John the finger as he goes.

The pipes hiss again. Alexander comes out with his wet hair wrapped in a towel and starts making dinner. Let’s John stand behind him and run short nails along the skin at his hips while he whips up some sort of white sauce for the chicken. Oversees homework on the couch for so long that John quietly stews a little in the bedroom. Wednesdays are short days; they’re supposed to spend the night together.

It pretty much sets the tone for the week. Thursday morning has John feeling crabby and short, which Alexander doesn’t seem to care about because he’s also crabby and short. They drink their coffee in mostly silence, and then John leaves for work a whole twenty minutes early and spends the whole time on the train wondering if this is another bad week.

Alexander has them, sometimes. He likes the kids, he likes the program, but he finds French people so distasteful all together so, production weeks are always shitty considering how much he has to interact with parents and nannies.

It’s not production week, or even month, as far as John can remember, but he thinks that considering the term has just started, there’s probably a parent-teacher interview in there somewhere. It’ll be up on the calendar. Alexander doesn’t mention those things anymore, he just writes them down.

So, John resigns himself to that. That Alexander’s just having a shitty week, and that, come Monday morning, after they’ve had the weekend to unwind, everything will be okay again. John’s fine with it, it doesn’t displace things too bad. These sorts of weeks aren’t common. Sometimes Alexander needs some time to be grumpy. John has them too.

Saturdays are good days. When Friday comes by and John finds his desk at the publishing company that he works at, he spends most of the morning thinking about that fact that Saturdays are _theirs._ Saturdays are sacred. They both wake up late, when they want to, no alarm. Sometimes they’ll fall into the shower together, most times not. Sometimes they’ll fuck, and Alexander will let himself be coaxed into sitting up on John’s hips and fucking himself slowly on John’s cock. Or, sometimes, John will drag him to the foot of the bed so he’s leaning over it, and he’ll watch Alexander clutch at the bedsheets while John opens him up like that. Even after, they still might not shower until after breakfast. They have a ritual now, after two years. It’s predictable and perfect. They make each other’s breakfast and sit at their tiny two-person table in the light of the balcony door. John lets Alexander pull a foot into his lap and start massaging his ankle. Alexander makes fresh grapefruit juice and leans over the table, always, to chase the bitter taste from John’s mouth. Their hands never seem to disconnect for very long.

It took them a while to find that peace. To fall into it like they do. It wasn’t easy. John always wanted to sleep in, and Alexander never felt productive if he spent too long in bed. They’ve found others way’s to be with each other. The summer came around and John took a trip to Ikea. Bought a durable fold out table and chairs. Set it up on the balcony and insisted that, considering it was holidays, they should at least sit down and have breakfast with each other out in the sunny weather.

So, Saturdays. Saturdays were amazing. Saturdays were transcendent. Literally John’s favourite day of the week. Even if Alexander is in a shitty mood, he isn’t going to be able to resist the easy affection and relaxation that came with a Saturday.

* * *

 

 Gilbert makes an appearance. Rings the buzzer a few times in that annoying way that he does, that John, literally just getting home himself, doesn’t even bother to ask who it is before he unlocks the building door.

Leaves the apartment door ajar while he shuffles into the bedroom and changes into sweats. Bubble, their little adopted Siamese cat is stretched out on the bed. Gives John a little purr when he runs a few nails over her head. He walks back out into the kitchen and pulls leftover pieces of gnocchi out of the fridge so that he can pick at it. Doesn’t bother texting Alexander about dinner; It’s Friday night, they usually just make whatever they want.

Gilbert is shivering when he comes in. Slams the door shut and yells out a random greeting from the entryway while he removes his outer skin. John doesn’t reply. Honestly, he’s in a mood of his own. Sits on the couch and melds himself into it. Turns the television on to something random.

Gilbert comes in with frizzy hair and a big grin on his mouth. Ruffles John’s hair on his way to the kitchen.

“Looking comfy there, Johnny,” he says, which makes John hunker down a little more because it’s obviously a prelude to something.

“What you want?” John asks around his mouthful. Gilbert breezes past his shitty mood. Comes back out with a beer from the fridge in one hand. Settles on the couch next to John.

“I want to drag your sorry ass out of this apartment for a few hours,” Gilbert admits with a friendly smile. The fights not in him, John can see that. Gilberts not going to try very hard, which is good, because John doesn’t really feel like going out.

Which he admits, eyes on the television. Gilbert hunkers down on the couch as well. Even goes as far as leaning himself against John’s side, head on his shoulder.

“Just for a little bit?” Gilberts asks, noncommittal. “Alexander will come.”

John frowns for a second, annoyed. Wonders if Gilberts already asked. Maybe they texted each other? Chatted on the phone while they were at work. All three of John’s texts have yet to receive a reply. He’s trying not to be bitter about it.

“He said that?” John asks, his mouth a twisted, thin line. Gilbert drinks his beer.

“No, but he will.” He sounds oddly sure of himself.

John has to snort a little to himself. “If Alex says yes, then I’ll come,” he promises, which just makes him sound childish, but Alexander won’t say yes, so it doesn’t matter.

When Alexander does get home, he surveys both of them on the couch, comfortable. Gives them both a little smile before he disappears into the bedroom. It’s almost seven. John doesn’t want to ask where he’s been. Gilbert gets up and follows him, so John gets up as well. Shuffles into the kitchen and drops his bowl into the sink. Turns the kettle on to make himself a cup of tea. He yearns a little bit. Wants Gilbert to leave so he can put a movie on and make out on the couch with his boyfriend. Wants to snuggle into the blankets and play with Alexander’s hair. They’ve learnt, since moving in, that the bath is only just big enough to fit the two of them. John wants to utilize that.

He has to smile when they both come back out. Alexander hasn’t changed, but he’s let his hair down and he has his kindle in hand. Gilbert trudges out behind him looking sullen, gesticulating.

“Last week doesn’t count, Alex. Last week, you got drunk before ten and John had to take you home before you threw up everywhere,” he’s saying, which makes John chuckle.

“Your fault,” Alexander mutters, eyes on his kindle. “You bought me all my alcohol.”

And then, for god knows why, Alexander stops, tugs Gilbert by the sleeve of his sweater. Has him lay down so that Alexander can lay down in front of him. So that they’re both laying down on the couch, snuggled against each other. Gilbert goes as far as to sigh and wrap an arm around his waist and settle in.

John watches them, the kettle boiling. The conversation goes nowhere. Alexander turns the volume down on the television so that he can concentrate more. Gilbert lets the conversation go. They both look comfortable against each other.

John, honesty, has to bite his lip. Has to grip the edge of the counter with both hands. Stares at the water boiling in the glass kettle with a scowl on his face. Breaths steady, frustration, anger, mounting.

Unfair, is what John wants to say. Take the Kindle from Alexander’s hands and hit him with it. Make Gilbert leave so that he can articulate how annoyed he is with his boyfriend. Alexander’s been in a mood since Tuesday. John knows he’s been in a mood because Alexander gets quiet. He gets quiet, and grumpy, and sensitive and, most of all, he doesn’t want people to touch him. He doesn’t want John to kiss him or hold his hand during dinner or cuddle him in bed. Thursday night and John had stewed in his own frustration for ages, all because Alexander had promptly told him to fuck off when John had pressed a kiss to the back of Alexander’s neck.

That was fine. Okay. It was normal. Alexander got grumpy. But John’s not going to pretend like suddenly seeing Alexander cuddle with someone else makes him feel relieved. He’s not under the guise that Alexander’s just suddenly in a good mood again. They’re just laying there, quiet, peaceful, and John has to quell his anger a little bit, because, honestly, he just wants to kiss his boyfriend. He’s just wanted to kiss his boyfriend the whole week.

He says nothing, though. It tries him. He’s pulling a face, he knows. John makes his tea. Settles on the comfy armchair next to the couch and flicks over to Netflix. Confers with Gilbert on what to put on. Alexander offers nothing.

* * *

 

 When Gilbert finally leaves, it’s without much fanfare.

He whines about having boring friends, to which John apologizes for, but his hearts not really in it. Alexander waves from the couch, Kindle still in hand. Gilbert, like always, ruffles John’s hair once he’s dressed. Calls out a final goodbye and then he is gone, and John takes a deep breath and closes the door.

They have a clock in the kitchen, analogue. Alexander stays quiet on the couch, stewing, so John goes in to stare at it for a few seconds, his thoughts going haywire.

“You want anything to eat, bub?” He calls out. Loud enough that it will get Alexander’s attention. Alexander’s response is less the verbal; he shakes his head, which is dumb because if John wasn’t standing where he was, looking at Alexander, he wouldn’t have even seen it.

It’s nine o’clock. John stands there for a few seconds, formulating. It’s not late. He shuffles into the bedroom. Stares at the closet for a few seconds.

Okay, fine, he’s going to do this. If Alexander’s going to spend the whole week being grumpy and untouchable to just John, then this is what he gets.

John opens the closet doors slowly. Pulls out one of the felt boxes with a lid. Flicks it open, trying to get his thoughts together. A few things sit at the top, the first being the very things he’s looking for, because they tend to use them all the time. Takes out two pairs off fleece-lined, leather cuffs. Thick, durable, connected by a thick chain a few inches long. Places them on the bed next to Bubble.

The bed frame is new. They went shopping for one together, but John was the one who picked, because it had, essentially, been his idea. Metal frame, thick, intricately designed headboard. Durable enough so that if Alexander felt like being a brat, there was no chance of breaking the furniture.

So, John takes his time. Threads one pair through the short bars at the end of the bed, one pair at the top. Shucks the quilt and the blankets, a few of the pillows. Drops them all on the armchair. Bites his lip, thinking. Peels his socks off, drops them into the laundry basket in the bathroom.

He shuffles back out into the living room, feeling a whole lot better than he did an hour ago. Alexander has migrated into the kitchen, a noodle packet in hand. John has to stop for a second, just to watch him wait for the kettle to boil. He’s wearing dark-wash jeans with a caramel-coloured belt. His collared shirt is flannel, red and black, and it sticks out at the bottom of his thick, navy sweater. John thinks he looks nerdy, which he’s articulated a few times before. Nerdy, and smart. _Like a schoolteacher,_ he’d muttered once. Alexander likes to feel comfortable in his clothes. Likes to wear big woollen scarves and coats that fall down past his knees and cardigans that made him look like he’s drowning. He likes winter for that reason.

John can’t really do that. He yearns for summer like no one’s business. Can settle for plain tee shirts and light jackets and anything that’s easy to peel off. Doesn’t like to feel stifled. Doesn’t like to feel as buried in his clothes or in bed linen as much as Alexander does.

John shuffles over quietly, a tiny smile on his face, yearning. Leans against the counter for a second or two. Sighs loud enough that Alexander has to know that he’s there, even though he doesn’t react. Like this, John can’t see his face, but he’s sure that Alexander is probably still sporting his grumpy frown. He waits, loose, patient, for Alexander to set everything down. Empty the noodles into the bowl, pour over the packet of flavour, chuck the rubbish in the bin. When his hands are empty, John strikes.

Steps forward, right up behind Alexander, and grabs a fistful of loose hair. Yanks back, hard.

It takes Alexander a second to really catch on. His hands go up immediately, instinct, to grab at John’s hand. Stumbles back until their bodies collide. John can’t help his grin.

“Ow!” Alexander calls loud, off balance. “What the fuck, John.” He tries to claw at John’s hand, to coax him into letting go, but John pulls hard enough that Alexander’s head falls sort of backwards so that he’s looking more at the ceiling.

“Let go, you fuck!” Alexander screeches, harsh, his jaw tense.

There’s a second there, where John almost does. It’s not always easy to read Alexander, to understand what he wants. Most of the time, a testament to how little he actually spends the whole week in a mood, Alexander’s frustration crystallises. Turns into something hard and wanting. Turns into a desire for his sour mood to be beaten out of him. Likes John to treat him like trash just a little bit.

John loves doing it. He loves having that power over Alexander. He loves watching all of Alexander’s hard edges turn soft. He loves making Alexander _cry._ He wants to do that tonight. He wants to force Alexander to relax.

But, also, like a lot of things, he can sometimes get it wrong. He can interperet Alexander’s mood into something it’s not, and then Alexander gets even more grumpy, and John just winds up feeling awful.

So, John almost lets him go in fear that maybe he’s pushing where he shouldn’t be. It takes him a second to figure out what he wants to do. Alexander struggles. Tries to elbow John in the stomach, but they’re much to close for it to have any effect. John wraps a hand around Alexander’s waist and feels for his belt. Pushing Alexander shirt up enough that he’s got a hand flat against Alexander’s abdomen, his fingers breaching the waist a little.

“Nah,” John chuckles in lieu of a response. Laughs when Alexander growls and claws at his hand. “You know what to say,” he tacks on. _If I’m being too rough, if it’s too much, if you’re not in the mood._ They have a safeword for a reason _._

 “What the fuck?” Is Alexander’s intelligent response. It makes John laugh, makes the adrenaline pump, makes him feel powerful. _I’ve got you, you little fuck,_ he thinks, pulse racing, _you’re mine._

He loosens his grip a little. Just enough so that when he manhandles Alexander into moving, he’s actually able to walk.

“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, John,” Alexanders growls out, his breath picking up. Puts up as much fight as he can while John drags him towards the bedroom.

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” John replies sweetly. Digs his nails into Alexander's hip enough that it makes Alexander jolt.

“Be good for me,” he tacks on, dragging Alexander into the bedroom. Lets him drop down onto the end of the bed. Alexander leans away from him, his chest heaving. His face is red, he’s scowling, he’s giving John the meanest look. It’s all pointless, though, because – sweet Jesus, thank you God – there are tears running down Alexander’s flushed cheeks. Actually tears. Big, fat tears. Running down his boyfriend’s beautiful face.

John actually has to laugh. _Already._

“Baby,” he coos, all condescending and mean. Grabs Alexander’s chin and runs a thumb through the trail. Alexander, to his surprise, slaps his hand away. Pulls his face up into a scowl.

“I don’t want to,” he says very carefully. Pulls back from John as much as he can. Looks like he’s about to start full out sobbing.

John softens a little. For a second maybe. Nods. Caresses Alexander’s cheek. “No?” He asks, all soft-spoken and gentle.

Alexander doesn’t fall for it, he doesn’t let his defensive stance drop, but he opens his mouth to answer, and that’s when John reels his hand back and slaps Alexander across the face.

The noise is _loud._ Alexander makes a noise in his throat. Wretched. Hurt. Like all the words and the air have been stolen out of him. The slap is hard enough that it whips Alexander head to the side. Makes his shoulders curl in.

“Take your clothes off, baby,” John says in that same soft tone. Pets Alexander’s hair behind his ear. Forces his face front again. Alexander’s jaw is tense, his eyes wet, rimmed with more tears. The red mark on his cheek blossoms. It won’t bruise, but John wants it to.

Alexander sits there for a few seconds, his expression hard. It’s dampened by the tears, but he’s clearly trying to put on a brave front. John smiles, delighted. Makes a quick movement with his hand, likes he’s going to slap Alexander again.

Alexander jolts with the movement. Throws his hands out, his hand shifting to the side. “Okay, okay,” he calls, breathless, _scared._ John could come from that, from that expression alone. Wrap a hand around his dick, jerk off quickly, just from Alexander flinching away from him. It never used to be like that. It used to freak him out, the way Alexander liked to play the victim so much. The way he liked to be _forced._

He takes his sweet time doing it. His eyes find the floor, his tears still flowing, and peels his sweater off first. Let’s it fall to the floor by John’s feet. Unbuttons his shirt, pulls his arms out. In the midst of letting that fall to the floor as well, his hand runs into one of the ankle cuffs, still wrapped around the bed frame. Alexander gazes down at it, and John watches his face twist.

He looks up. Gives John a scowl. “You’re not – “ he starts, but it’s cut off when John slaps him again. His head wrenches to the side, his breath leaves him. John has to smile to himself.

“Alexander, I asked you to do something,” he calls. Watches Alexander’s chest heave. Watches him bring his face back up, his cheek blooming, flushed. Stares back at Alexander’s glare.

There’s a second there where Alexander is still, his nostrils flare, his jaw tenses, his eyes are pure fire. He looks like he’s about to fight back. Like he wants to stand up and slap John back, just to return the favour.

John _wants_ him to. John wants another reason to hit him. Wants to wrestle him down, make him _hurt._

Alexander’s expression doesn’t shift. The only thing that really changes is that he stops crying, the tears stop falling. His hands fall to his belt, but John keeps the eye-contact the whole time that Alexander removes the rest of his clothes. Gives Alexander a condescending little smirk when Alexander’s boxers hit the floorboards.

He reaches forward. Rubs a gentle thumb against Alexander’s cheek. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” He says, then shoves gently at a shoulder. “Up.”

The instruction is clear, but it takes Alexander a second. He keeps that same hard expression, almost petulant, the way he looks at John. Likes he’s annoyed and angry that he can’t do anything. He folds his legs up, his hands winding back behind him. Shimmies slowly up the bed.

John watches him go, grinning. Takes a second to strip himself of his shirt, drops it down by Alexander’s. Stands tall and rubs his cock through his sweats, just for a little relief. He’s not really hard yet, but he’s getting there more than Alexander, who looks like he still needs a little bit of encouragement.

And then he reaches out. Fast enough that Alexander can’t figure out what he’s doing. John latches onto one of Alexander’s ankles. Has to put both knees on the bed and bend down to do it. Drags his leg down until it’s straight. Until it can reach the cuff.

There’s resistance there for a few seconds. Not long enough for John to address it. John rubs his ankle as he brings it down. Lays it flat, brings the cuff up and around, fastens it the way he usually does. There’s wear in the leather, in the hole that he always loops the buckle through. He reaches up and drags Alexander’s other ankle, cuffs that one down too. Stands at the foot of the bed and looks at his boy. His sweet boy who honest-to-God looks like he wants to kill John.

“Not looking so hot, sweetheart,” he calls, and Alexander’s face twists up, his knees fitting together.

“Fuck you,” Alexander replies, spitting it out. John smiles. Grins, really, like he’s proud. Walks on his knees so that he’s close enough to get his fingers back into Alexander’s hair.

“John, fuck!” Alexander calls, voice high, as his head is pulled back, his face twisting up. He reaches both hands out to claw at John’s arm. Nails rake down his wrist, and it hurts enough that John slaps Alexander again. Hold his head still and slaps him twice across the cheek.

They’re not as hard as the other ones. He has to go easy, now. He can’t afford to leave a mark. Not in a place that people are going to see. It’s hard enough, though, that the breath still leaves Alexander. That his skin turns a darker shade of red.

It’s also easy to push Alexander to lay down, now that his hands are preoccupied. Uses the leverage he has to shove Alexander the rest of the way down, a few inches from the wrist cuffs. Untangles his hand, grabs a cuff. Alexander’s breathing has calmed down, but it still hitches when John gets one hand down. He still looks livid. Still looks like he wants to rip John apart.

John gets both hands cuffed down. Because the chains themselves are so short, it sort of has Alexander stretched out. His feet almost hanging off the end of the bed, his wrists pinned above him. He’s all laid out, all flushed skin. John sits beside him and lets his fingers dance across the thick hair on Alexander’s abdomen. Follows the trail up his sternum, his chest. Keeps his touches light, gentle.

And then he has it. It hits him. Just as he reaches out to run a finger over Alexander’s nipple, he knows exactly what he wants to do.

Alexander doesn’t look at him, although he keeps his frown. He watches the trail that John runs over his front. He looks poised, really, with the way that his neck is arch forward. He looks like he’s just about ready to jump out of his own skin. John can’t blame him.

He climbs off the bed then, displacing the cat enough that she jumps off the bed and leaves the room. Finds himself back over at the closet, the box still open, waiting. He bends down to shuffle through it, but it doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for. There isn’t that much in there to begin with.

He picks the pink one. Slim, smooth, long, a few different settings. Sets it down beside him, a grin on his face. There’s another thing he’s looking for; a small black box. Light, trimmed with gold, made out of cardboard, the original packaging. They have two sets. The other set sits in a white box, but he doesn’t like those ones as much. They’re pretty standard when it comes down to it.

“You know,” he stops to say, a pensive look on his face. Turns to give Alexander a thoughtful look. “I think I deserve this considering how much of an asshole you’ve been this week.” He puts venom into it, but he doesn’t want to sound too harsh. He wants Alexander to know where this is coming from. Why he’s in this predicament.

Alexander doesn’t look repentant at all. He turns to John and shoots him a scowl. John catches the “fuck off” that’s muttered between them. He stands with his prizes, his tools. Shuffles back to the bed to loom over his poor boy. Alexander’s gaze zones in on the vibrator, but nothing about his demeanour changes. He’s not impressed.

John sets it down on the bed by Alexander’s ribs. Clambers back onto the bed. Swings a leg over Alexander’s hips and sits down there, all his weight bearing down.

“I think you owe me a little obedience,” John sighs. Runs his nails up and down Alexander’s chest. Alexander, apparently, doesn’t care.

“I think you can kiss my ass,” he retaliates, unfazed. John can tell where he’s at, at the moment. Can tell that Alexander’s trying to figure out whether he’s going to obey or be a little brat about it.

John has the box. The little one that Alexander hasn’t seen yet because John’s got it flush against his sweats. He leans down on one arm and presses a biting kiss to Alexander’s neck. Wets his lips, leaves kisses all up and down his throat; not gentle, but he doesn’t linger long in one spot. Alexander’s only response is to ignore him.

And then he sits back up and brings his palm down over Alexander’s face again. A slap right against the other cheek. The breath leaves Alexander’s pretty mouth. He groans, his hair flicking with the movement of his head. His jaw tenses.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathless. John has to laugh.

“I know what you want, sweetheart,” he says soothingly. Runs a thumb along Alexander’s flushed cheek; along his jaw, his lips. He wonders, briefly, how long it will take to get Alexander to start crying again.

“I want you to get off me,” Alexander groans. Bucks his hips a little.

John chuckles. Brings his other hand out, the one with the box, so that it’s in front of him, so that he can open it. He doesn’t have to, though, to get a reaction out of Alexander. Alexander catches sight on the box and his whole demeanour changes.

“John,” he breathes, a squeak in his voice, like a note of disbelief. Like he’s thinking that surely John isn’t feeling _that_ mean.

John places the box down next to the vibrator without opening it. Watches Alexander watch him. Shimmies down enough so that when he leans down, his face is level with Alexander’s chest. And Alexander, the poor thing, wriggles, groans, tries to move away from him.

“No,” Alexander groans, weak. Sounds like he could start crying again, just from the frustration.

John ignores him. Uses his arms to support himself, leans down far enough that he presses a soft kiss against the hard peak of Alexander’s nipple. Not hard, not biting. Presses his tongue against it gently, gets it nice and wet. Blows cool air hard enough that Alexander jolts from it, from the feeling.

 _This,_ John decided long ago, was what really got him going. _This_ was what got him off. That one of the first things Alexander ever said to him was that he had really sensitive nipples, that John had to be _careful_ , of all things. That John could run a harsh thumb over both of them and it would have Alexander in a mess. That this was the first and easiest way to make Alexander fall apart.

 _This_ was what John wanted to do.

Alexander, good boy that he is, tries to stay prone, stay still. Tries not to react. He’s fairly good at it when John decides to be gentle. Curls his fingers into a first, stares up at the ceiling. Mouth open, brows furrowed. John sits back up slowly, smiling. Reaches down, rolls his index finger in a circle around the hard peak, gentle, caressing. Alexander doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him. He’s probably hoping, maybe, that John will be kind to him.

So, instead, John picks the box back up, and Alexander’s head whips to the side, whips around to watch John open it. Throw the lid down, give the box a little shake.

These nipple clamps are his favourite. Standard, he guesses, but they aren’t connected with a little chain like the others ones are. No, these are the ones that John had bought himself. That he’d scoured the internet for until he found the proper ones. That he’d gifted to Alexander in summer when they’d both taken a week in the holidays to camp out in a house along the beach and relax.

The ends, where the chain would clearly connect from, were adorned, instead, with clear, little gems, one on each other them. Like the kind you’d put on a bangle or in a hair tie. Tiny, shiny, looked like diamonds.

John removes one from the box. Grins. Sets it down so that he can concentrate on just this. It’s clear to Alexander then, that he’s not getting away from this, that John’s made up his mind. He bucks again, his face twisting up into something between disbelief and frustration. _Helplessness._

“I can’t,” is what he says, his voice breaking, small, chest heaving. The chains rattle against the bed frame with the way Alexander pulls heavily. John bears his wait down on Alexander as much as he can.

“Yeah you can, darling,” John coos, and the moment he makes to bring it down, Alexander groans pitifully.

“John, _no,_ I can’t.” He sounds likes he’s about to start crying. John ignores him. Tease a finger along Alexander damp nipple. Taps the clamp on his pec.

“This’ll hurt less if you hold still, sweetheart,” John warns, and then he’s pinching Alexander nipple hard enough that Alexander gasps, wriggling. The clamp latches onto Alexander’s nipple, and there’s a few seconds where Alexander’s just stunned, his face twisted up, flushed. His wriggling intensifies, but its centres elsewhere. Becomes a conduit for the pain that he must be feeling.

Alexander heaves a breath then, almost like a sob, and groans. Gasps excessively, like he’s about to start hyperventilating, and John runs a soothing hand up and down Alexander's chest. Coos gently, shushing him.

“Relax sweetheart, steady breaths,” he says. Leans down and kisses Alexander’s face. His cheek, along his hairline, the corner of his twisted mouth. Brings a hand up to dislodge a fist and twine their fingers together.

It’s just time now, that John needs to wait for. Gives Alexander the chance to breathe, to relax. Alexander rocks his shoulders steadily, jerky little movements that he usually does when he’s in pain, when he’s trying to alleviate an ache. His eyes shut, his face pulled up. John can see the sweat that starts to dampen his forehead, along the edges of his hairline.

He leans down to the other nipple. Gives it the same gentle treatment. Ignores Alexander’s soft “no” and sucks it gently into his mouth. Gets it nice and damp and sensitive. Presses his tongue right over it. Alexander’s movement is jerky now, not as violent. He’ll be a little more subdued now that he has to worry about disturbing or dislodging the clamp. It’ll make easy prey.

“I can’t,” Alexander starts again. John sits up to look at him, at the way he bites his lip, tears at the cuffs. The metal is loud, but it becomes so constant that it’s just background noise now. “John, _listen_ to me.”

John, instead, grins. Sits back on Alexander’s hips. Pulls down at the waistband of his sweats. He’s almost entirely hard now, just from the way Alexander squirms and cries. Rubs his palm against the head of his dick. Looks Alexander in the eye as he does it.

“I’m listening, baby. What’s wrong?” That same condescending tone and Alexander _must_ know that this isn’t going to go anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” is what Alexander comes up with, and it almost makes John groan. How easy it is to make Alexander fall this way. How easy to make him submit. John Wraps his hand around his dick and starts pull slowly, smiling.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do another. _Please_. I’m sorry about this week,” Alexander goes on, looking desperate, looking helpless.

John bobs his head, rubs his fingers against his slit, contemplates. Gives Alexander a smile. Then he reaches down for the box. Picks up the other clamps. Turns it over in his hands, the gem glinting in the light. Alexander’s breathing picks up. The one that’s already attached looks perfect where it sits.

And then John reaches out. Pinches at Alexander’s other nipple, and Alexander practically _sobs._ Tries to wriggle away, tries to buck his hips. He throws all caution out the window for just a second if it means he can get John off. It’s not a particularly interesting fight considering that he’s locked down so tightly, but John grins at the way he tries.

“ _Please – “_ He starts again, but it’s cut off by a gasp. This time, Alexander looks like he’s about to cry when John flicks a finger against the clamp already attached to his chest. He arches, his head coming off the pillow, his mouth open obscenely for a few seconds. John waits, watches him pant and try to find the oxygen to breathe.

“Ow,” Alexander breathes, a little belatedly, and it makes John laugh because he knows how much it hurts. He knows how much pain Alexander’s in right now. They’ve had this talk so many times before.

He also knows, considering where he’s currently sitting, that Alexander is loving it, as much as he’s fighting it. That he can feel how hard Alexander cock is underneath John. He’s not fooling anyone.

“You want this to hurt more, baby?” He asks sweetly. Keeps his fingers around Alexander’s clamped nipple. Holds him there. Alexander squeezes his eyes shut, tears dotting the edge. Shakes his head frantically.

“No?” John clarifies, his voice a little harder.

“No,” Alexander calls out, voice weak.

“Then are you going to be good for me?”

The chains rattle again, this time from his ankles. Alexander thrashes a little, likes he’s extremely frustrated, and John waits. Lets him get it out of his system. Once they’re past this bit, past the hard but, it’ll be better, they both know. It’ll _feel_ better.

“I’m going to be good,” Alexander says, his back arching. Sounds like it takes all his effort just to say it. Settles his head back against the bed and flicks his eyes open.

John reaches up, briefly, to run a thumb along his cheek, along an eyelid, where the tears are just starting to form. Leans back to survey what he’s done. Watches Alexander stare at the ceiling, hairline wet with tears and sweat. Glances down to what he’s done, to the stark black clamps against Alexander’s dark skin.

He stands, then. Lifts himself away from Alexander and the bed. Shuffles down to the bottom of it to undo the cuffs around Alexander’s ankles. Unloops them from the bed, lets them fall to the ground. Alexander’s knees immediately come up. For comfort, probably. Trying to curl in on himself.

John drops his sweats down. Stands at the foot of the bed naked for a few seconds. He reaches over, one hand on his dick, the other finding Alexander’s shin. Curls around his calf, squeezes. He lets himself think for a few seconds. Brainstorms what he wants to do next, which way he wants to push Alexander.

The vibrator is still sitting against Alexander’s ribs, in the dip that his body makes. John walks around to the side of the bed and picks it up, leaves it to sit on the bedside drawers. Sits down next to Alexander and runs a hand through the top of his hair.

“Okay?” He asks gently, a little more genuinely, just to check in. He’s not worried about Alexander in this respect. He knows that neither of them is afraid to safeword if they have to.

Alexander, to John surprise, turns his head away. Closes his eyes, buries his face against his arm, away from John’s eyes. Breathes out, his chest still heaving a little, doesn’t reply. John feels something in him clench at the display. Some primal and possessive.

He reaches out, then. Undoes the cuffs on Alexander’s wrists as well. Brings each of them down to his sides. He sits closer on the bed, and Alexander turns slightly, perhaps surprised.

“Up,” is John’s only explanation, and grabs a fistful of Alexander’s hair again. Forces him to sit up, and then up onto his knees as well. Goes along with it. Grasps John’s wrist, his hands shaking.

Has Alexander face the headboard. Unlinks the cuffs from the frame and brings them back down. Takes Alexander’s compliance and forces his hands back behind his back. Cuffs them together. Takes Alexander forcefully by the shoulders and has him bend down. Has him on his knees while his shoulders support all his weight.

It’s a very compromising position, and Alexander knows it. Figures it out in the split second that he’s laid down. Resists the hand along his shoulder blades that’s pushing him down.

“No,” he whines, helpless. Fights a little against it. John scowls. Brings a hand back and spanks Alexander hard on his ass.

Alexander jolts, surprised. Bitten off whine, heavy breathing. It must do its job, the way it makes him jolt, because Alexander becomes restless again, his shoulders wriggling.

The clamps are heavy, they both know it. With the way that Alexander’s body is angled, he’ll want to be careful with how he moves. If he’s rough about it, his movements and gravity will only pull the clamps away from his body, from how they’re attached. Will make them bump and twist.

“You’re trying my patience, Alexander,” John gripes out, tone of annoyance. Settles his hands against Alexander ass and rubs soothing little circles. “They don’t come off until I’m satisfied, so I suggest you stop resisting and whining.”

And then he brings his hand back once again, as far back as he can, and brings his palm down on Alexander’s ass. He does it three times in the same spot without pause, the crack of each one loud. Alexander jolts, whines, a rumbling noise in his chest, toes curling.

John thumbs the red spot that forms, patient. Clears his throat loudly.

“Thank you, John,” Alexander gives him, tears in his voice.

John smiles and stands up from the bed. Walks about it to grab the vibrator and the lube in the drawer. Bring them back around and place them close to where he kneels on the mattress, and few centimetres away from Alexander. Rubs a hand against his ass again.

Brings his hand back, give Alexander three more. Pauses, waits for Alexander to express his gratitude. Let’s his thumb run down his spine, down between his cheeks. Presses it lightly against his hole. Alternates the pressure he puts there, hard, pressing in, then soft. Uses both hands to part Alexander’s cheeks, and then he leans it and swipes his right against his hole. Keeps himself buried there, his tongue circling, pushing in.

He doesn’t want to do this slow, he doesn’t want to give Alexander time to adjust. Doesn’t care how long this whole scene lasts. He just wants to make Alexander cry. Wants to feel his chest heave. Wants Alexander overwhelmed.

“Thank you, John,” Alexander says, but it’s all soft and drawn out. John smiles and sets his tongue straight. Moves his head in quick jerking motions, up and down, up and down, everything wet. Doesn’t both to wipe away the saliva that accumulates on his chin as he presses his tongue as hard as he can. It’s all wet, loud. He sets both hands around Alexander’s thighs to hold him there, buries his face right in. Licks in hard circles. Can feel the harsh breathes that Alexander is taking, with the way his body shifts. Loves the way Alexander rocks back a little, just a little, onto his tongue. John doesn’t have to touch, to look, to know that Alexander’s hard now. Hard enough that his cock will be wet and curved against his stomach.

John uses the leverage he had to encourage Alexander to rock back, to fuck himself on John’s tongue. Gives Alexander a few more seconds to enjoy himself before he pulls back. Sits up straight and wipes a hand against across his soaked chin. Grins at Alexander little whine. Pulls his hand back and gives him a wayward slap against his cheek.

“And what do we say?” He calls, a grin in his tone. Alexander breathes heavily, his hips still rocking a little.

“Thank you, John,” Alexander breathes, and John wonders whether he’s crying, whether his cheeks are soaked yet. Wishes, momentarily, that he could do this while watching Alexander face.

He takes the lube first. Squirts it on the vibrator instead of his fingers. Decided that Alexander won’t need to be stretched for this part. Rubs the rounded end of it against Alexander hole.

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” he decides to explain. Gives Alexander ass a little pat. Presses it harder, almost enough to breach. “And you’re not going to move from this spot until you’ve come.”

And then he presses the button at the top. Watches Alexander jolt, his hole clenches, as it starts vibrating on its lowest setting. Pushes it in slowly. Watches the rim of Alexander’s hole take it, accept it in. It’s really not that thick, which is kind of the whole point, so his body takes it easily.

John pushes until it’s about halfway, and then he presses the button again. Feels the tiny machine shift into something a little more powerful. Alexander jolts again, moans right back in his throat, short and cut off. John chuckles and pushes it all the way in so that he’s only holding the base. Brings his other hand down to his stiff cock and starts stroking.

And then he shifts it a little. Turns the vibrator up another level, the buzzing getting louder. Alexander starts to rock back again, tiny little movements that make him look like he’s swaying. Not hard enough to disturb the clamps. John twists the vibrator, trying to direct the curved part into the place that he wants it.

“Please,” Alexander breathes out, panting, and then his breath hitches all together, and he makes the most _wonderful_ noise. A choked off groan that gets lost somewhere on it’s way up. John watches the way Alexander clenches around the toy, the way his body stills for a moment.

“Oh – _yes_ ,” Alexander grits out, sounding tense. Rocks his body a little harder, hands clenched along his back, the chains of his cuffs rattling.

John grins, his cock weeping, grip hard. Presses the button until the machine is buzzing as hard as it can go and pushes directly into that spot. Alexander's toes flex this time, his whole body shuddering, and the groan that comes out isn’t cut off. His body arches down a little, and then he makes another noise, vastly different. Sobs _loud._

John knows this feeling. Knows how intense it can get get. How it can feel like your whole body is vibrating along with it. How awful and oversensitive it makes you feel. Alexander wriggles, whines, can’t stop moving, and John gets it. Can’t imagine how much pressure must be on the clamp at the moment. How much the movement of Alexander’s wriggling is causing them to shift and bump against his chest.

John twists the vibrator like that. Starts up a steady rhythm. Instead of thrusting it in and out, he starts twisting it in little circles, skimming it gently. Listens to Alexander breath and take it. Listens to him whine John’s name. He has to clench his teeth a little, slow his hand down over his cock, breath. Sits back and watches because _God_ this boy does things to him.

He lets his boy get used to it like that. Presses the machine up and down a little, alternates his movements. Keeps it the same enough that the vibrator isn’t sitting in the right spot for too long. Watches Alexander thrust back on it, watches his fingers clench and unclench along his spine. Can’t see his face mostly because Alexander’s hair is everywhere, because he can picture from the little sounds here and there. Can picture how much Alexander’s sweating right now, how much he’s crying.

John flicks a thumb against Alexander’s rim, soothes it there gentle. Considers pushing a few fingers in as well. He doesn’t want this part to be too much. He wants to make Alexander come first, before moving onto anything more strenuous. Wants to make Alexander cry a lot harder than he is..

Alexander does most of the work, and John strokes himself slowly and watches him come undone. Listen to his shivery moans, his breathless little whines. Watches him fuck himself back onto the vibrator with purpose. He gets loud the closer he gets to coming. Less breathless whispering.

“I can’t,” he whines, pulling at the cuffs, and John almost feels for it. “It’s too much,” he says, but it comes out slurred, barely articulate.

John holds the vibrator up against Alexander prostrate and listens to him wail, watches him shake. “Yeah, you can, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You can for me.”

He lets go of his cock. Reaches around Alexander’s hips. Alexander arches, pulls his hands apart as much as possible, his hold body seizing up, stilling. John wraps his fingers around the head of Alexander’s cock. Watch the way his back arches as he comes, his hole clenching hard around the toy.

Alexander’s initial groan is lost for a second or two, but he comes, and he makes the most beautiful noise John has ever heard. This long, thin whine that comes straight from his chest. Makes him sound like he’s begging, like he’s desperate. John has to bite his lip. Presses his fingers against Alexander cock and realizes, belatedly, that Alexander’s just come dry.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers reverently, almost proud. Listens to Alexander gasp and jump against the vibrator. Can seem to stand the overstimulation for a few more seconds before he tries to pull away.

“Oh, God, please,” Alexander groans, taking on a different one. His fingers are still flexing against his back, his toes curled. John takes the vibrator out slowly, other hand flat against Alexander’s spine. Shuts it off, drops it in the sheets. Alexander gives out one last little noise, a punch of air, and then he lowers himself. John helps him kneel onto his shins, rather than his knees, hands on Alexander’s hips. Uses his nails to run soothing patterns along his skin. Leans over momentarily. Presses his chest to Alexander’s back so that he can part the hair at Alexander’ neck, all damp with sweat, and press a chaste kiss right by his ear. Alexander’s breathing comes down, and John presses butterfly kisses to his skin. Waits for him to calm down.

“My sweet boy,” John murmurs, tone soft. Plays with the hair along Alexander’s face. Pushes it aside, curls it around his ear. Runs a finger over Alexander’s damp cheek. “My perfect boy.”

“Take them off,” Alexander says, muffled, voice slurred. Blinks his eyes open, but the position is weird; he can’t quite catch John’s eyes. John kisses his cheek and gives him a little laugh.

“No, baby, not yet. We’re not finished yet,” John replies. Backs his comment up by sitting up straight and grasping for the lube again. Pours a good amount over all four of his fingers first.

The first two go in fine, little resistance. Alexander’s hips only twitch, but he says nothing, does nothing. He’s still kneeling, and John wants him up on his knees again, but he’s willing to leave Alexander like that until John’s fingered him open as much as he needs to.

Presses the third in with a little more resistance, but it’s not anything Alexander can’t take. John does this so often that they never have to dwell here long. John does it all clinically. Stays well away from Alexander’s prostate. Pulls his hand back one last time so that he can add his fourth finger. Concentrates on listening out for Alexander’s breathing.

“Not like this,” Alexander groans. Can probably feel John getting himself ready. The cap of the lube again, cold as John pours it over himself.

“Please,” he whines. Draws it out, his voice hitching. John smiles lovingly at the state that he’s in. The pure bliss of Alexander’s softer edges coming to light. Brings him palm down flat against Alexander’s thigh, softer this time, and helps him to his knees again.

“John,” Alexander calls, and it’s whiny enough that John spanks him a little harder. Digs his nails in a little more.

“Enough, Alexander. I’m not done. Wait.” And then he lets the head of his dick sit against Alexander’s hole, rubs it between his cheeks. Watches the lube smear, watches the discolouration in Alexander’s skin.

Alexander lets out a little noise, an almost breathless gasp. Remains otherwise quiet. John pats his hip, pushes forward. Hard enough that the head catches against Alexander’s rim. Takes slow, slow, even as he pushes in, let’s Alexander swallow him. The head first, taking his time. Alexander stays quiet, although his hands fidget, and John can’t imagine how much his shoulders must be hurting now. He’ll ache tomorrow.

And then John’s in, and it’s blissful, but he doesn’t bask in it too long, doesn’t linger. He’s not in the mood to go easy. Brings his hips back, watches his cock drag back out, the head catching Alexander’s rim. Moves his hand away, holds tight to Alexander’s hips.

He fucks in with as much force as he can muster. Keeps his hips still, drags Alexander back harshly. He doesn’t pause after the first thrust, even after Alexander’s distressed noise. Use the leverage he has to shift Alexander, move him the way he wants. Make his body move over John’s.

It’s intentional, this way. The sway of Alexander’s body. He’s violent and fast about it. His movements are jarring. This way, whenever their hips collide, John can’t imagine what sort of pull it puts on the clamps. John watches Alexander’s hands clench, listens to him cry a little bit, listens to the sound of their skin against each other.

John holds on as tight, adjusts where he needs to, and fucks Alexander hard. Lets him slide forward easily, only to dig his nails in and draw Alexander back fast. Ignores the way Alexander tries to twist away, ignores his deep, long whines. John _loves_ this. Alexander underneath him like this, oversensitive and sweet and compliant. Loves to listen to him complain and whine and powerless to help himself.

Each drawback remains sharp, skin slapping together, sounds wet from the lube. Alexander mewls, groans. John feels the burning in his abdomen, the heat in the air. Fucks into Alexander so hard that the bed groans a little, the frame hitting the wall, everything loud. He losses himself to it a little bit, Concentrates only on jostling Alexander enough. Listens to his sweet noises.

The moment Alexander starts to cry is a sweet one. He’s getting used to the stimulation on his nipples now, his complaints quiet, but there’s an underlining noise there, over Alexander’s harsh breathing. Quiet, intakes of breath that John knows is Alexander trying to hide his tears, trying to find another outlet for all of his frustration. John grins, almost satisfied, sweat dotting his forehead. Slaps a hand over Alexander’s ass one more time before he decides to change things up a little; knows how he wants to come.

He slows down. Gives Alexander time to adjust. Pulls out, his cock hard, weeping. Soothes both hands down Alexander back to give him a minute.

“All right. Over, baby,” He says, and he takes Alexander by the sides. Encourages him to lay on his side. It’s not easy considering that Alexander can’t put his chest to the mattress. Has to grab another pillow, one of the ones he left on the bed, and set it down underneath Alexander back to accommodate the weird positions of his arms. Makes sure that his ass is positioned a little higher than the rest of his body. It means that John can fit his knees semi-underneath Alexander, put him in a better position.

Alexander’s face – God – when he turns around and lays back, is a masterpiece. Red, wet, flyaway hair stuck in places. His lips look chewed to hell. John helps him get comfortable; knees up, spread. Runs his eyes down Alexander’s flushed neck, his darkened chest. His nipples are barely visible because of the clamps, by they look distressed. John wants to lean down momentarily. Remove the clamps just so that he could suck them into his mouth. Lave his tongue and feel how hot and sore they were. He knows that it won’t happen, even after he’s done with the clamps. It’ll be too much, Alexander wouldn’t be able to take it, but he takes the time to imagine it.

“You’re going to come for me now, sweetheart,” John promises, quiet. Watches Alexander’s chest heave. Pushes back in, no pretence, no caution. Hitches Alexander’s legs up the way he likes. Up far enough that they almost touch his chest. Scoots as close as he needs to.

Alexander lays his head to the side, his mouth open, his eyes a little dazed. When John stays fucking into him again, his jaw tenses, he starts to make his breathless little noises again, squeezes his eyes shut.

John’s got him, though. He knows this. Feels his own orgasm building because he can see the way his jarring movements cause the clamps to stutter a little bit, can see the way they jerk. Pulls Alexander’s legs up as much as he can, pauses a second to lean in closer.

He knows that he’s got Alexander’s prostate after that because Alexander’s mouth falls open, his head snaps up. He starts wriggling, his hips trying to roll towards John. A noise bubbles out of his throat, something John can’t name, but John concentrates on this, just this. Watching the tears spill over Alexander’s eyelids. Watches his body jerk, his cock dark red and curved, spilling out clear against his abdomen. Wet and messy the way John loves. Holds Alexander by the top of his thighs and fucks him fast and relentless.

His own orgasm, encroaching as it is, starts to burn, starts to simmer. He reaches a hand down and wraps his fingers around Alexander’s dick. Watches his toes flex, listen to the moan that spills from his throat.

“Are you ready to give it to me now, baby?” He asks, grip tight. Uses three fingers to pump against the head, Alexander’s pre making everything wet and sticky. Alexander throws his head back, eyes closed.

“Yes,” he calls loudly, his face twisting up. “oh, God, _please_.”

John grins, holds his breath. Wraps his entire hand around Alexander’s dick and pumps as fast as he can, out of rhythm with his own hips. Listens to Alexander breath out another “oh, yes” and take it.

He’s loud when he comes. Like he always is when John decides to build it up. His back arches, more than it already is, his mouth falls open, and then John feels it soak his hand. Alexander let’s out a noise that John can’t define, can’t explain. Can only watch as he practically wails from it, body still wriggling. It makes John grin to see his boy like this. To see him so caught up in his own pleasure.

He thrusts don’t let up, though he slows his hand as Alexander rides it out. Watches him practically sink back into the bed, his legs slagging. He feels like he’s on the precipice here, his breathing hard, his legs burning, the pleasure mounting. Alexander takes the overstimulation, although he starts to pull a face. It’s not long enough that he has to say anything, because before John knows he’s about to come, he slows down. Let’s Alexander’s legs fall to the side. Lets him sink down. pulls out, cock weeping.

His own chest is heaving when he crawls over Alexander’s hips. Sits himself down on his stomach, his dirty hand held aloft. Alexander flicks his eyes open to watch him, glazed.

“Open up, boy,” John instructs, and like he expects, Alexander lets his lips fall apart, opens his mouth. Takes John’s soiled fingers with no complaint. Sucks them into his mouth eagerly. John gives him a smile and rubs his cheek.

With the other hand, he lets it crawl up Alexander’s side. Makes sure his movements are easy to track as he traces a hand around the clamp on Alexander’s left nipple. Holds his fingers down tight against Alexander’s tongue, holds his mouth open, before, quick as he can, he latches onto the clamp and pulls it off. Doesn’t even bother to loosen it.

Alexander’s reaction is instant and violent. John almost gets his fingers bitten off the way that Alexander howls, his back arching, squirming. His arms jerk where he’s obviously trying to pull them free. His hips buck, perhaps trying to dislodge John a little bit.

It probably shouldn’t turn John on the way that it does, to watch Alexander in pain like that. He scowls at John’s grin, his teeth hard against John’s knuckles, tears beading in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he says, frantic, but it comes out muffled against John’s fingers. John chuckles.

“One more, sweet thing,” John coos, trying to comfort, his dick still hard, aching with the need to cause a little more hurt. “One more and then we’re done.”

Alexander looks pained, breathing hard. Keeps his teeth against John’s fingers. Shakes his head. John drops the clamp onto the bed and reaches for the other. Runs his index finger over it gently, right where Alexander’s nipple is caught. He decides, considering that he’s starting to get impatient now, to be a little nicer. Unlatches the clamp this time, rather than pulling it off. Alexander still flinches, still makes that horrible noise in his throat, chest still heaves, but it’s less so. When John drops that one down too, Alexander makes a noise like he’s relieved, a soft rumble against his fingers.

And then, God, John stares down at Alexander’s flushed chest, takes his cock in hand. Has to bite his lip because Alexander’s nipples are cherry red and peaked, and they look like they _hurt._ It’s such a stark difference to the rest of him. And John still has that desire to bite at them. To take them into his mouth and soothe them with his tongue. Suck on them until they start to turn purple.

Instead, he starts to pump his hand again. Stares down at Alexander’s dishevelled demeanour and groans, his fist moving fast, wet from the lube and his own pre. It doesn’t take him long to come. Alexander’s glances up him, dazed. Watches his hand move over himself and he’s such a pretty picture, wet with sweat and the saliva that runs down over his chin, his hair knotted. John can’t help himself. Stares down at Alexander bruised nipples and arches forward. Aims it right, so that when he comes, he watches it land in ropes along Alexander’s chest, along a nipple, his sternum. Curses under his breath at the imaginary, at the obscene display. Listens to Alexander’s soft little whimper as he fucks into his hand until it starts to hurt. Prolongs the pleasure as much as he can, his legs and stomach tingling with his orgasm. Drops his softening cock, wipes the rest of his come on Alexander’s chest.

He settles back for a second, catching his breath. Removes his hand from Alexander’s mouth. Flicks his sweaty hair away from his head. Alexander remains still, his eyes closed, his face a little more relaxed. John stares down at him for a second. Swings his leg back over, shimmies down the bed a little so that he can lean down amd press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Alexander’s mouth. Alexander turns into it, tries to return it and John, sleepy and happy, can’t help the smile. Worms a hand in and rubs the back of Alexander’s neck, right by his hairline, so that Alexander’s know that they're done.

“Tell me how you feel,” John murmurs against Alexander’s cheek, his lips there, needing to know. He could use a minute, could catch his breath, enjoy the afterglow, but he needs to do this. Needs to put Alexander back together again.

Alexander nods his head, whispers a redundant “yeah”. Let’s John remove all of the pillows and help him sit up. John smooths his hands over Alexander’s shoulder, down his back. Shifts so that he’s kneeling behind Alexander. Coaxes him into leaning against John’s chest. Is careful while he undoes the cuffs.

Alexander’s starting to look more at peace now, more comfortable. He’s cute, the way he nuzzles into John’s mouth against his throat. The cuffs come undone, get thrown down the side of the bed, and Alexander’s obviously not inclined to move except for the way he stretches his arms out. John helps as well. Runs his fingers down Alexander’s shoulder. Down to his elbow, his fingers rubbing in gently.

“Feel okay, bub?” He asks, his mouth right by Alexander’s ear. Twines their fingers together. Alexander turns towards him a little more, his eyes barely open. Leans in enough so that he can press his lips to John’s, and John almost burst with the need to take care of his boy, to look after him.

“Lay back,” he says, eager now. “Let me run you a bath.”

He grabs a pillow, places it down so that when Alexander lays back, he’s got some support. Unwinds from the bed, from his boy. Picks up the wayward clamps and lets them fall to the floor. Stretches momentary, his arms popping. Spares Alexander a little glance on his way out of the room.

The bath needs to be shallow. It’s a big one, and comfortable, but John sits on the lip and adjusts the hot water. Watches the water level rise until a certain point, because Alexander’s poor chest isn’t going to be able to take it just get. Will have to get a washcloth, lay it out carefully over Alexander’s skin.

He stumbles back into the bedroom, tired now, sated. Stares at Alexander still laid out, chest rising and falling steadily. Goes and leans over enough to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Bath’s ready, bub,” he says, and it takes effort. Alexander doesn’t want to move. Argues that maybe John should carry him, considering that he was so rough and that this whole thing was his fault. John laughs, insists that Alexander’s probably too heavy, and John’s limb currently feel like cooked noodles.

The mirror is fogged when John shuts the door, the steam rising from the bath. Helps Alexander in on one side, deposits himself onto the other so that they’re facing each other. Lets Alexander curls his legs over John’s.

“You want your hair done?” John asks, and Alexander response is a quiet one. He leans back, let’s himself fold into the water, his chest not quite submerged, rubs his hands over his tired face.

“I love you,” Alexander says, hiding behind his palms, and John had to still for a moment, smile. Drops the washcloth into the water so that he can lean over and kiss Alexander’s sweet little mouth.

“I love you too,” he responds, feeling warm. Alexander removes one of his hands so that their eyes can meet.

“Thank you. I needed that,” he admits, his voice bordering on hoarse. John takes the washcloth again, runs it waywardly up Alexander’s arm.

“Me too.”

They sleep in in the morning. Wake up sometime after nine. Spend a few good minutes just pressing chaste kisses to each other, cuddling. He gets up to make Alexander a cup of coffee. Smiles when a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

They eat breakfast at the table, slow and comfortable, and John forgets to ask about Alexander's bad week, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Alexander seems to forget about it as well, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If there are any other tags that I need to add, please let me know!
> 
> I wrote this in one day post-surgery, so if it deteriorated by the end there, I do apologize. I've been too tired to edit.


End file.
